Turning around, Lauren lets me pass as I head back to my bedroom, silently following me through the penthouse.
She watches as I fold and stack my things on the end of the bed. I can feel her studying me.
“You know, I just cleaned out my wardrobe, and I have a whole bag of clothes I was going to donate. You can pick through it if you like. We look like a similar size.”
I spin around, facing her. “I have clothes,” I say, crossing my arms.
I hate that I have to sneak around, washing the few things I have. And I know I shouldn’t feel ashamed, not when it was such a small price to pay for escaping the life I lived for nearly seven years, but I can’t help the sliver of embarrassment I feel, especially when I’m surrounded by this luxury penthouse day in and day out.
Lauren looks the part with her pencil skirt, silk blouse, and heels. She suits this place. Maybe not the exact cold, impersonal styling Sebastian’s penthouse seems to have, but the luxury of it all.
“Hun, you practically sprinted down the hall to get out of that towel. Something tells me if you could have done it in here, you would have,” Lauren says, holding my stare.
“I have all I need. Thank you, but I’m sure there’s someone who needs it more than I do.”
“You need more than a pair of jeans and some underwear.” She glances at my pile, or lack thereof, her features softening. “Trust me. I’ve been there. It’s only clothes. Have a look, pick a couple of things for yourself and pass the rest on if you want.”
I swallow hard, hating that she’s read me so easily, but I don’t grace her with an answer.
“I haven’t known Sebastian ever to let a woman stay beyond… you know.” She waves her hand. “So clearly, you’resomething. Have you talked to him?”
Her words cut deeper than I thought they would. Images of Sebastian and other women flash through my mind. Deep down, I suspected, but I never really let myself think about it. Hearing about it now, I feel the crack in my heart open up, allowing a rivulet of blood to trickle out.
I clear my throat. “We haven’t… no, I don’t need to talk to him.”
“He’d want to help,” Lauren states.
“No.” My answer is firm.
“Okay.” She sighs. “At least look through the clothes then.”
I don’t agree nor disagree, and she seems to take that as her answer. Besides, I don’t have to actually take anything. It’s not like she would know if I just donated the whole bag. With that plan set, I let out a breath, my shoulders relaxing.
“Shoot,” Lauren says, glancing at her phone. “I need to run. I think Sebastian’s pissed I hung up on him.” She turns to leave but spins back. “Oh, are you able to take Shadow out for me?”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, even though I’ve never taken Shadow out by myself. How hard could it be?
“Thanks! I’ll be seeing you,” she sings on her way out of the room.
There were no issues with taking Shadow downstairs, though I didn’t linger on the street any longer than necessary. The concierge remembered me from the day I came down with Mason, and seeing as I had come from the penthouse with Shadow, he let me back up without a fuss.
Although, the trip downstairs reminded me of the photography book I’d seen in the café with Mason. I thought about asking Mason to buy the book for me tomorrow, but I didn’t even know how much it cost, plus I really didn’t have the money to spare. So, I found myself hesitating on the threshold of Sebastian’s office, not sure if I should enter. My gaze flits around the space noting the different accents. It definitely feels lived in compared to the rest of the penthouse. And I suppose it should, seeing as it’s where Sebastian spends most of his time when he’s here.
It’s big, but not overly so. Large enough for a decent-size desk and a small seating area with a leather couch. A computer screen sits on top of the desk, and it’s what finally draws me into the room.
Moving carefully through the space, like I’m doing something I shouldn’t, I make it to the desk and sink into the chair. I grab the mouse sitting on the desk and give it a slight back and forth motion. The screen lights up, and I’m thankful there’s no password, though it doesn’t seem very secure. Maybe he doesn’t do much work stuff on this one.
Searching the icons, I find the one for the internet browser and double-click it to open a new webpage. Next, I press on the search bar and type what I’m looking for.
Naomi Mitchell.
Her website is the second result from the top, and I click to open it. When it finishes loading, I’m immediately inspired by the images I see. I flick through the gallery-type setup, looking at the different images, most of them portraits of some kind. I know some websites have tips and tricks, which is what I’ve always used in the past to try to build my skill, but it can be limiting. Although the thing that catches my eye is a bold title, just a little further down the page
Photography Workshop
Opening the link, I scan the details, and excitement rushes through me when I see the location—Sydney.Then it’s squashed just as fast when I remember I’m leaving the country, and even if I weren’t, I couldn’t afford it, and my only camera is broken.
Deflated, I sag back into the chair.